Living With What You Love

I realize having a hutch displaying my Grandmother’s china is old school.
It’s a bit of a conflict having Pottery Barn taste but a sentimental heart.
As I catch a glimpse, passing by on a busy day,
I’m aware these are not just dishes.
They are my heritage,
Literal symbols of where I have come from.

My Grandmother was a unique woman,
Leticia Celestia by name and a school teacher by vocation,
She rode her horse Jewel to the school house every day,
Sitting side saddle in her long skirt and heeled boots.
One of her pupils became my Grandfather,
Home from the war,
A man child finishing high school and falling in love with the teacher.

I’d love to have seen her preparing for marriage;
Choosing her china pattern.
Exotic birds, Sweeping tails,
a bit unusual for a young woman living in the hills of West Virginia.
Perhaps they spoke to her of the world beyond those hills,
A world to which she was drawn,
Longing to be a missionary overseas;
Her children, taking up the mantle when she could not
And today, her grandchildren also embracing global journeys.

How many meals have been served on these plates?
How many biscuits buttered, homemade jams spread, country ham sliced?
In a few short days,
I will take down the platter,
And serve a steaming hot Thanksgiving turkey,
freshly sliced to my family,
My Grandmother’s story, living on.